Their Child?. Karen Rose Smith

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Chapter Eleven

      The kitchen was way too quiet when Lori finished revealing the truth behind all the lies.

      Finally, her mother said, “Oh, hon. What a terrible mess. I am so, so sorry…”

      Her dad hung his big head. “Lori—girl, I’ve always wanted to tell you, but I never knew how…”

      Lori couldn’t get over how light she felt, suddenly. Unshackled. Released at last from the dragging weight of the secret and all the lies and evasions that had followed after.

      “Tell me now, Daddy,” she said. “Because I promise, I’m listening.”

      He raised his head and looked at her through haunted eyes. Her heart went out to him. For the first time she understood how much he had suffered for his part in what had happened eleven years before.

      Heck said, “I always used to worry…back when you and your sister were growing up. I worried about Lena. All the boys were after her. I was sure she was headed for trouble. But you? I never lost a wink of sleep over you. You were always so smart and quiet, with no time or inclination to tease and flirt and string the boys along. And you had straight-As and all those colleges were after you, throwin’ scholarships at you…” Heck folded both arms on the table and paused to look down at the big Rolex watch he always wore with such pride. He seemed to study that watch, as if the face of it could tell him more than the time.

      Enid reached over and brushed his shoulder—a light and tender touch of wifely reassurance. “Go on, honey. Tell her. She wants to hear it.”

      Heck looked up again and met Lori’s eyes. “I guess I kind of went crazy, when you turned up in the family way. I didn’t know how to handle it. I was not prepared. I wanted so much for you—expected so dang much of you—more, I see now, than I ever expected of your sister. I was hopping mad and I scared you to death, with all my shouting, my hard threats and carrying on.” He repeated, “I scared you to death. And then I sent you away. I sent you away—” His voice broke. He looked down again and that time, it was obvious he wasn’t looking at his watch. His thick shoulders shook. “And you never came back. I am sorry. I never should have sent you away.”

      Lori reached across the table and clasped her father’s beefy arm. “Daddy,” she said. “I forgive you. And, I did come back. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

      He lifted his head then. Tears tracked down his ruddy sun-creased cheeks. He swiped them away with the back of his hand and blustered, “Will you look at me? Bawlin’ like a damn baby. Don’t know what the hell’s gotten into me.”

      “I’m here, Daddy,” Lori softly said, once more. “I really am.”

      Her father looked straight at her, then. He was smiling through his tears.

      Later, around the dinner table, Enid asked about Tucker.

      Lori confessed, “I don’t know any more than you do. From his actions, I’d say it’s pretty clear he intends to be a real father to Brody.”

      “Brody hasn’t said a word, so I’m guessing he doesn’t know yet…that Tucker’s his dad?”

      Lori shook her head. “Tucker wants Brody to have a chance to get to know him first. He wants to break it to him gently. I’m going to try to respect Tucker’s wishes on that. So unless Brody asks you directly, please keep what I said tonight to yourselves for a while.”

      Enid said, “Whatever you need from us—but if he does ask?”

      “Then tell him to come and talk to me. I don’t want Brody lied to.”

      Her father nodded. “We understand.”

      Enid said, “And what about you and Tucker? It did seem, until just lately, that you two were…becoming close.”

      “Mama, I just don’t know. Right now, between Tucker and me, it doesn’t look too good.”

      Thursday afternoon at four-thirty, Tucker sat behind the desk in his study at the Double T, a whiskey on ice in a crystal glass at his elbow and Lori on his mind. He reached for the phone—and it rang.

      Impatient to get rid of whoever it was and get on to the phone call to Lori, he pushed the talk button and put it to his ear without checking the display. “Tucker Bravo. What?”

      “It’s Lori.”

      He wrapped his hand around his drink—and then let go of it. “Beat me to the punch, huh?” It came out sounding lazy and a little bit mean. Just how he felt right then—at least the mean part.

      He heard her suck in a breath. Then she rattled off, as if she’d been rehearsing it, “Tucker, I’m fine now. I’m well enough to talk. And we do have to talk. We have to come to some sort of reasonable arrangement about Brody and the future and what we intend to—”

      He didn’t need to hear it. “Lori.”

      There was a silence down the line. And then, tightly, she asked, “What?”

      “Come out here, to the ranch.”

      “Now?”

      “Yeah. Now. Come to the front door of my wing, the South Wing.”

      “I—”

      “Yes or no?”

      Another silence, then, “Yes. Twenty minutes.” He heard the click. Score two for her: she’d called him. And she’d hung up before he could hang up on her.

      The blood pumped hard and fast through his veins. He felt ready for battle. Impatient and exhilarated.

      Probably a bad sign.

      A woman Lori didn’t recognize answered her knock. The woman led her through the high-ceilinged foyer and into the beautiful, spare-looking South Wing living room, an airy space done in golds and browns, accented with black. That other time, two weeks ago, the room had seemed so relaxing and welcoming.

      Not now.

      Tucker sat on a coffee-brown sofa. He didn’t get up. “Thank you, Mrs. Haldana,” he said to the stocky, grayhaired woman. He picked up the full glass from the side table at his elbow. It had a watered-down look about it, as if he’d poured it a while ago and then decided not to drink it. “Want something—whiskey? Water? Both?”

      “No, thank you.”

      “All right, then.” He set the drink down without bringing it to his lips and turned to Mrs. Haldana. “I won’t need you anymore tonight.” The woman nodded and left them. He turned his shuttered gaze on Lori again. “Sit down,” he said.

      She almost refused, but then realized he would probably take it as an offensive move. She really, truly did not want to fight with him. So she perched across the glass coffee table from him, on a sofa identical to the one where he sat.

      He said, “That eye still looks pretty bad. How are things under the bandage?”

      She shrugged. “It burns and itches, alternately, СКАЧАТЬ